To Keep a Kingdom
by Big Zane
Summary: Ten years has passed since Ulfric Stormcloak took the throne of High King and wrested Skyrim away from Imperial clutches. Now after a decade of tenative peace Skyrim once again faces a threat, this one even greater than last. Once again the brave sons and daughters of Skyrim must shed blood in the Fatherland's protection. It remains to be seen however, if they are up to the task.
1. The Storm Cloud Gathers I

**13th First Seed**

**4E 211**

**Windhelm **

**The Storm Cloud Gathers I**

**(Ulfric Stormcloak)**

* * *

Ulfric Stormcloak sat on his throne peering intently at the man before him. It said a lot about the news that he had just received that for once he was not slouched over with his head resting lazily upon his fist which in turn rested upon the armrest. For once he was sitting up straight and alert, his attention fully focused on the stormcloak commander before him. Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced had earned his moniker during the Markath Incident where he had stood over a downed Ulfric, protecting his future High King from arrows with his own body. The two had known each other since they were children and they had an unbreakable bond forged in the fires of more battles than Ulfric cared to think about. There was no one that the High King trusted more, and that was the only reason he was even considering believing what Yrsarald had just reported.

"Are you certain of this?" Ulfric asked once more. "There can be no mistake?"

"Its been verified by our best agents." Yrsarald replied once more.

He folded his thick hairy arms and his intense blue eyes locked with Ulfric's own, transferring more meaning than could be put into words, as he continued.

"A lot of them died for this information. There can be no doubt. The Dominion is on the move. Their entire war fleet is unaccounted for."

"Why didn't we learn of this sooner?!" Ulfric bellowed slamming a fist down upon the armrest of his throne.

"Until two days passed I was still being reassured that the fleet remained docked in Alinor. One or two ships is understandable but the entire fleet missing? How could this come to be?"

"Magic." Yrsarald spat the word out as if it was the foulest curse he could muster. "Oblivion take all magic users but it was one of our friends from the college that finally broke through the spell. Illusion magic on an unheard of scale."

"Altmer bastards and their magic tricks." Ulfric snarled tapping a forefinger agitatedly upon the armrest of the throne. He glared up at the sweeping ceiling of his throne room as he sought to gather his thoughts.

Ten years ago he had wrested control of Skyrim from an Aldemeri controlled Empire with nothing but a strong sword arm and a dedicated band of true Nords. The price had been high and some of Ulfric's nights were still haunted by the faces of a thousand friends and companions that he had willingly sent to their death in his conquest, but in the end it was worth it. For the first time in a millennia the destiny of the Nords was once again in the hands of the Nords. A true son of Skyrim was once again High King and the Fatherland itself was free of the crumbling Empire's yoke. The ensuing decade had been one of rebuilding and reorganizing a Skyrim still in uproar and confusion after the events of the civil war while building up a powerbase for the inevitable clash with the Aldemri Dominion. It would seem that the Elves had decided to take the initiative.

Ulfric suddenly felt drain. He was tired, more tired than he had ever been. The Jagged Crown rested heavy upon his brow. Once again his people would be tested; once again the Nords would be called upon to pay the ultimate price for their freedom. How many more trueborn sons and daughters of Skyrim would die in the service of their country this time? How much more would his people need suffer to simply earn their right to exist?

_We're Nords and we'll keep on fighting no matter what. Talos give us strength. _Ulfric thought._ No Elf nor their servant shall ever have this land again while a true Nord draws breath._

"So," Ulfric said shortly opening back his eyes. "A pack of Elf ships might be halfway to Skyrim even as we speak."

"Aye." Yrsarald said grimly as he nodded his head.

"Where stands the Empire on this matter?" Ulfric asked softly with his eyes narrowing.

After slaying or driving all of the Imperial Legion from Skyrim the Empire had been for the most part quiet. There was still the occasional raid on the Skyrim settlements boarding High Rock and Cyrodiil but there had been nothing close to an organize attempt on Skyrim in almost five years. The assassination of their last Emperor, Titus Mede II, had left the Empire in a state of such upheaval and confusion that even the Thalmor had kept away. The latest reports that Ulfric had received indicated that in Cyrodiil every count seem to be setting up his own and the warfare between territories was intense. Yet if the Empire chose this time to scrounge up some troops and march on Skyrim then Ulfric would be fighting a battle on two fronts. The thought of a organized assault from the Empire frightened Ulfric more than an invasion of Aldemeri.

Ten years was not enough, not nearly enough, to consolidate power after so bloody and abrupt a takeover. Thousands within his realm still supported the Empire in secret and cursed him as the Usurper beneath their breath. A determined march on Skyrim would most likely cause every Hold to once again erupt into civil war and everything that Ulfric had worked so hard towards for ten years would go up like mist under a midday sun.

_I should have wiped them out when I had the chance, _Ulfric mentally cursed_,_ _Talos prevent my people from suffering for my lapse!_

"We've little to fear from them at least." Yrsarald said waving a dismissive hand. "Cyrodiil is more nine countries than one now. Almost all the Counties has declared their independence. In the absence of an Emperor that milk drinker of a Legion Commander Verus has been made Regent. The entire Legion is deployed in trying to bring the counties to heel."

"Don't underestimate them." Ulfric said grimly. "They once thought they had little to fear of us. Look what that got them. I want an eye kept on our dearest neighbors at all times. We have more to fear from an Imperial invasion than an Aldemeri one."

With that the High King of Skyrim smoothly rose to his feet and stretched with a loud yawn. Even though he had just seen his fiftieth winter Ulfric Stormcloak was still an imposing man. He stood at six feet five and weighed in at close to twenty stones. Big for most other races, but typical for a Nord. Even in his advance age the thick corded muscles in his shoulders had not faded, neither had the strength in his sword arm. Yet the High King had not completely escaped the ravages of time.

His sleek hair and neatly trimmed beard, both once ruddy auburn were now streaked with silver, and the handsome noble-born face was now heavily lined with the cares and worries of a nation. The finely woven silk tunic that he wore was stretched tight across a paunch that had definitely not been there ten years before when he was winning his throne. But his emerald eyes still remained the same, alert and carrying a deep pain.

"What are your orders my king?" Yrasald prompted.

"There is work to be done." Said Ulfric grimly. "Send word out immediately. I will not be taken unawares by the Aldemeri snowbacks. I want Windhelm, Winterhold, and Solitude reinforced.

A thousand men apiece. I want patrols along the entire coast from Morrowind to High Rock. Send word to the fishermen and the Horker hunters to be on the lookout too, the Fatherland is threatened and every Nord should do their part."

"Aye my king."

"I want you to personally ride out to the Reach to inform Galmar of the situation. Tell him regretfully that his retirement has been cut short and Skyrim once more needs his services.

I want him to draw a detachment of soldiers from each Hold and use them to ensure that all the old Stormcloak Camps and forts are properly manned."

"At once lord Ulfric."

Ulfric stood so lost in his thoughts that he did not even notice Yrasald leaving. War was upon Skyrim once more, he felt it in his bones as he had ten years ago. Yet unlike ten years ago Ulfric Stormcloak was not excited by the prospect.

"How many more sons and daughters of Skyrim need die for us to live in peace?" He murmured to himself. "How much more Nordic blood need be spilled for us to finally come into our own? Damn these Elves! Damn them!"

Ten years ago, before the civil war that he had started, word of an Aldemeri invasion would have seen Ulfric Stormcloak in the saddle with sword in hand and an army of Nords at his back, with only the thought of 'victory or Svongarde' on his mind. Now…now he wasn't so eager to send more Nords to their deaths. As usual though, it didn't look like he would have much choice. Tucking his misgivings to the back of his mind Ulfric ascended the steps to his bedchambers. If nothing else he would need to be well rested to face the coming crisis.

-8-

_The place where Ulfric stood was nothing like his bedchambers where he last remembered lying down to sleep. He stood on barren and unyielding rock. In all directions he could see sheer cliff faces and summits as well as many waterfalls. Ulfric noted that it was like he was on a little island for a river of black water could be seen in all three directions. He paid little mind to those details however, all his attention was immediately focused on what could be found in the fourth direction: directly in front of him. _

_It was a skull so massive that Ulfric had to crane his neck backwards to see the top of it. the jaws of the beast gaped open forming a portal about the size of the front door to the Palace of Kings. Ulfric's eyes roamed further and saw that beyond the skull was attached a spine big enough to comfortably drive abreast two wagons. What looked like gigantic ribs lined the side of the spine in a grisly resembles to railings. The skeleton of the creature formed a bridge which spanned a great black chasm. It was a bridge which was familiar to every Nord though none saw it till death. _

_"The whalebone bridge."The High King muttered awed to himself. _

_Sure enough, the many precipices of a great castle could be seen rising up out of the mist in the distance and past the whalebone bridge. It was the Hall of Shor which meant that Ulfric was in Svongarde; the Nordic paradise. _

_"You're not dead." _

_Ulfric turned quickly towards the direction of the voice. He gasped audibly when he saw a face that he had not seen in almost twenty five years. _

_"Father." Ulfric whispered. _

_Indeed it was Wulfred Stormcloak as Ulfric remembered him; not as the shrunken sickly poison ravaged thing that he had been towards the end of his life. The man before Ulfric was tall and hale, his resemblance to his son was striking but where Ulfric's hair was auburn and his eyes green the great Bear of Eastmarch was redheaded and peered at the world through somber orbs of gray. _

_"Ulfric." The former Jarl of Winterhelm said. Wulfred's voice was the same deep rumble that Ulfric remembered so well and still keenly missed every day that he awoke. _

_"My son." _

_Ulfric sank to his knees, his feet going weak with emotions. _

_"Father." Ulfric whispered again. _

_Tears came unbidden to his eyes and his body trembled from the weight of his emotions. There was so much that he wanted to tell this man before him. His triumphs and his failures, his hopes and his fears. So much. _

_"Time for that later my son." Wulfred said with a smile. "We shall have an eternity to discuss your wonderful life when you sit at my side in Shor's Hall. But that is not this day and hopefully not for many more days to come. Just know that I am proud of all you have accomplished, my son. _

_You're a good king and a better man. You saved Skyrim with your actions and you have done me proud." _

_"Thank you father." Ulfric said reverently. Hearing those words from that man was worth more than anything else in the world or beyond. _

_"I called out to you not only to give you praise though, son of mine. I also come with a warning. The Fatherland will need you once more. War unbidden and unlooked for has come to your door and Skyrim as well as all the rest of Tamriel stands poise on the brink of destruction." _

_"Yes father," Said Ulfric desperately. "I know. Even now we are preparing." _

_"I'm forbidden from telling you all boy." Wulfred said and in his eyes a deep frustration showed. "But know that the situation is more than it seems. You must be strong." _

_"I know father but what_" _

_"There is no time my boy." Wulfred said reaching forward and gripping Ulfric's shoulder firmly. The hand on his shoulder was flesh and real. His father was no apparition. "Just know this. The Elves are not the real enemy."_

-8-

What awoke Ulric from a deep sleep was the shout and curses of enraged men.

"What?"He muttered to himself, his mind still foggy from sleep.

He sat up and looked around his darkened bedchamber. The fire in the hearth had burned down to a few smolders and no moonlight peeped in through the great bay window which overlooked the courtyard twenty feet below; leaving the room completely dark. He knuckled at his eyes in a vain attempt to get them accustomed to the darkness. The conversation with his father was still playing through his head but the clank of steel upon steel resounded in the corridor beyond the bedroom door and that was what brought Ulfric fully back to reality. The high king cursed and kicked off his coverings.

"Assassins!"

"Protect the high king!"

There was the meaty thud of steel upon flesh and a scream of pain, whether it was one of the assassin's or of his house guard Ulfric could tell not. His heart raced as he seized his sword from its plaque right above his bed head. The glyphs etched unto the polished steel blade glowed with a red luminescence but Ulfric took no time to admire it. He turned and sprinted across the room towards the wall which was decorated with weapons and pieces of armor.

Outside the sound of combat reached a crescendo before ominously stilling. Ulfric had just managed to wrestle an Ebony shield from the wall and unto his left arm when his door exploded inward with a thunderclap of sound and a literal flash of lightening. The high king stood at ready, his back to the wall and his feet spread, a fierce look on his face as his shadowy attackers trailed into the dark room.

"Five of you watch the door." A gruff gravelly voice snapped.

Ulfric narrowed his eyes and tried to make out who was speaking but in addition to the bad lighting the figures were all hooded and masked.

"High King Ulfric," The same voice said in mocking sing song voice. "Your time is nigh. Svongarde beckons."

"For you. Not for me."The High King growled in reply.

He hefted his shield and readied his sword. His only reply was cold laughter before the voice uttered one last word.

"Attack."

Ten men rushed towards Ulfric Stormcloak shouting and brandishing their weapons. He gritted his teeth and willed his soul to Svongarde before opening his mouth and sounding his own war cry.


	2. The Storm Cloud Gathers II

**13th First Seed **

**4E 211 **

**Windhelm **

**The Storm Cloud Gathers II **

**(Frodnar Hodson) **

* * *

As he sprinted through the corridors of the Palace of Kings dressed only in a loincloth and with a sword clutched in his hand, the only thing Frodnar Hodson could reflect on was how afraid he was. Even at the tender age of twenty four Frodnar had already developed a reputation of a great warrior; he had fearlessly fought off a band of Forsworn while injured, withstood an attack of Imperial legionaries with only half a fraction of their forces, and cleared a drauger infested ruin by himself. In short, he didn't scare easy. But as he barreled up the stairs leading to the upper levels of the palace his heart was racing and his stomach was water with terror.

He cursed the length of the flight of steps as his calves burned and sweat streamed down his face. Behind him four hold guards gasped and groaned, hardly able to keep up burdened as they were with armor and weapons.

"Hurry fools!" Frodnar bellowed over his shoulders. "For the love of Shor move your arses! The High King may be in danger!"

The flight of stairs led up to a corridor and Frodnar moaned in horror when he found the bloodied corpse of another guard. It was confirmation to his worst fear, this far in there was only one thing the infiltrators could be after: the High King of Skyrim. He barreled down the hallway his speed redoubled. If his king was dead…..if he had failed in his duty as housecarl. The thought was almost too much to bear. The king had rescued him from a dull life of logging and put a sword in his hand as well as the knowledge of how to use it. He had allowed Frodnar to live the life that he had dreamed of since childhood. Ulfric was not only his liege lord and king, Ulfric was also his mentor and almost like a second father.

"YOL TOOR!" The sound of Ulfric's thu'am was so mighty that it could be heard from even a floor below.

_Hang on my lord,_ the young housecarl thought as he increased his speed, _I'm coming!_

Frodnar turned another corridor and sprinted up another flight of steps before finally getting to the hallway which led to the High King's personal chambers. To his everlasting relief the sound of combat was still audible. Talos be praised! Ulfric was still fighting which meant he could still be saved. With his determination burning like the fires of the Red Mountain, he rushed down the last hallway and turned into the hall at the end of which was the doors to Ulfric's bedroom.

His eagerness almost caused him his life.

The candle fire from the wall racks to the side reflected from a glimmer of metal at the corner of Frodnar's eyes. It was only years of training and experience which saved him as he ducked low without missing a beat, the sword whizzed over his head so close that it sheared off his ponytail.

"Killl him!"

Frodnar swerved to the right and brought his blade up to intercept another sword. The impact jarred him to the teeth but he had little time to revel in his discomfort, a shift in the air from behind informed him of imminent death. He whirled around flung his blade downward to deflect a sword thrust from his lower back.

By Oblivion that was three! Judging from the other movements that he was hearing there might even be more. Panic exploded in Frodnar's mind. He was a great warrior he knew, better than most. But the odds of living to tell the tale after fighting an unknown number of assailants almost naked and armed only with a steel sword was not good for anyone not a dragonborn.

"FUS RO DAH!" Ulfric's bellow resounded throughout the hallway.

In his peripheral vision Frodnar watched Ulfric's gilded bedroom doors fly off their hinges with a thunderous boom and crashed into the opposite wall along with the broken bodies of two assassins. The raw force of his shout billowed down the hallway as a lash of wind which almost knocked all from their feet.

Frodnar took the chance and jumped away. It was an explosive and tigerish jump which carried him beyond the ring of enemies that were on the verge of surrounding him from all side.

In the brief loll that his leapt bought him he had a chance to observe his enemies for the first time. Five of them in all. They were all dressed similarly in the trademark green and bronze of Glass armor. From the fit of the armor all five were men and all of them were hooded and wore cowls of black cloth, obscuring all facial features.

A second later there was no more time for observing.

Two of the assassin's came at him, their upraised swords gleaming in the torchlight. He ducked first to the left avoiding an overhead blow that would have rend him in twain then tossed himself to the left to get out of the way of a slash that would have ripped open his belly and spilled his guts. With a shout Frodnar lashed out with his own blade, it whistled in a deadly arc and took one of the attackers directly in the side of the neck. The finely honed steel powered by great Nordic muscle sheared through cloth, muscle, and sinew and a second later a head was rolling on the floor.

Frodnar kicked the headless body into the way of second defender, causing the attacker to stumble back. Before he could follow up on his attack however, a motion off to the side caught his eye. The housecarl leaned his upper body backwards and watched as the sword of another attacker blurred inches away from his face. Without missing a beat he leaned forward sword first, the lunge carried behind it all his desperate strength. It pierced through the Glass cuirass, spitted the heart beneath, and punched through the other side dripping blood. The man gasped once and then stiffened. Frodnar wrenched his sword out of the dead man and brought it up to guard position, splashing his own face with blood.

The dead man sank boneless to the floor and two other men jumped over his body to get at Frodnar. One dual wielded a dagger and an ebony sword and the other carried a similar sword but backed up with a shield.

"Come on dogs!" Frodnar shouted. "Oblivion waits!"

The two of them pressed into the young housecarl and he met them with all the fury of a Nord in the throes of battle lust.

For a few minutes the sound of combat echoed off the stone walls of the Palace of Kings. The clash of metal upon metal was deafening. Frodnar was a whirlwind of movement as he blocked, dodged, and retaliated with massive hacks and swipes. Yet as the seconds ticked away he found himself doing more blocking and dodging and less attacking. The two assailants were good swordsmen. Alone Frodnar would have soon triumphed but the two of them together; it was all he could do to survive.

A dagger raked across his ribs causing him to cry out in pain, and a sword flashed past his face. His life was only saved by a hairsbreadth by the fact that he had stumbled backwards from the pain of the dagger.

Pain racked his side as he stood with one hand clutching his wound and his back pressed to the wall. Yet he held his sword steady and his blue eyes blazed determination, if this was the day that he would go to Svongarde then he would go as a true Nord. The two man cried and charged him simultaneously. Frodnar's face morphed into a death grimace as he prepared to make his last stand.

Just then the cacophony of armored boots upon stone began sounding out. The guards had finally arrived.

With shouts and war cries the four Stormcloak soldiers barreled into the two assassins who at once turned to meet them. Not forgetting his number one priority Frodnar turned away from brawl and sprinted towards Ulfric's bedroom. He ignored the pain in his side and the blood splashing down upon the stones with each step. His life came secondary to the life of his king. With his heart racing so hard it was painful he burst into the room ready to do battle.

Inside the room resembled a scene from Boethiah's realm of Oblivion. Corpses littered the floor, some burnt into unrecognizable husk and some missing limbs. Blood splattered the walls, floor, and impossible as it seemed the ceiling. He saw Ulfric's great four poster bed collapsed into a heap of wood, mattress, and sheets. The great hardwood wardrobe was also overturned and the king's clothes scattered along the floor. As he walked in the scent of charred meat, voided bowels, and sanguine was almost enough to make Frodnar retch. He ignored it though upon sighting Ulfric who was slumped against the wall beneath the broken bay window. He was covered in blood and unmoving.

With a cry of dismay Frodnar rushed over to his side.

"My king!" He shouted desperately. "Ulfric!"

The relief that he felt when Ulfric's eyes fluttered open was so strong that it was almost physical.

"I'm not gone yet boy." Ulfric Stormcloak gasped in a rough and uneven voice. "Svongarde will have to wait another day."

"Aye my lord." Frodnar said, his voice was raw from relief.

Kneeling at his king's side he at once began examining his liege for injuries. He winced and stared in horror when he saw a great jagged gash along the king's torso from left hip to right chest. It was slowly seeping red and there was no telling how much blood Ulfric had lost already.

"You need a healer now." Frodnar said trying to keep his voice as calm as he could.

Ulfric gave a weak moan in reply, he seemed to be on the verge of unconsciousness. From somewhere behind him there were footsteps. He whirled around expecting more assassins but found two battered looking and bloodied guards instead.

"Get the healers!" Frodnar snapped at them. "Now!"

One of them turned and ran from the room at once while the other hesitated before speaking.

"Captain if you will," The guard said taking an uncertain step forward. "I've got skills in restoration. I could help."

Frodnar turned back towards the guard and took in the person's appearance for the first time. He found a woman standing before him. Her pale skin signaled to Frodnar her Nordic ancestry. She looked around his age if not a couple years younger and just a head shorter. Her chestnut hair only reached her neck, doubtlessly cut short for practicality, and there was a smattering of freckles across her face as well as a nasty hooked scar on her right cheek. She looked anxiously at Frodnar through coffee brown eyes. She was no great beauty, no her features were too homely for that, but Frodnar still couldn't help but notice the way her body filled out the stormcloak uniform that she there was no time to dwell on that now.

"Hurry." Frodnar urged.

The female guard at once moved to Ulfric's side and crouched down. She held a pale hand a couple inches from his rend chest and began muttering under her breath. Her hand began to glow a bright auburn and then Ulfric's chest began glowing in resonance. While the wound did not close; Frodnar noticed that as several seconds passed the seeping of blood gradually tapered off before completely stopping. The light dimmed and then disappeared and the woman heaved a tired sigh, on her brow were beads of sweat. Though Frodnar knew little of magic and had no desire to learn more it was obvious that it had some taxing effect.

"Will he be okay?" He asked glancing anxiously at his still unmoving king. Where were the blasted healers and reinforcements?! If Ulfric died he would have the lot of them hanged.

"I….I don't know, captain."The woman admitted. "I managed to halt the bleeding at least for the moment. But there's no telling how much blood he's lost already or if any organs were damaged. His breathing is strong at least, that's something."

"What's your name soldier?"Frodnar asked.

"Sofie, captain."

"Well Sofie I thank you. You just may have saved the king's life this day."

"My duty and my pleasure captain Frodnar." Sofie replied touching her left fist to her breast in a salute.

A few seconds later the room began echoing with shouts and calls as an entourage of people came rushing in. healers, soldiers, servants, most half dressed and all raving for answers; it appeared that the entire castle had awoke.

"The king!" Sifnar Ironkettle wheezed. He was an ancient and wizened yet still hale Nord who had been cooking in palace kitchens since the days of Ulfric's father. "What happened? What's going on!?"

"Assassins." Wuunferth the Unliving growled. The old mage glared at bodies as if though willing them back to life so he could kill them once more. His snow white beard almost seemed to curl with his rage.

"Tend to the king!" Frodnar shouted out overriding them all. At once the healers descended upon Ulfric with spells and potions.

"He's badly hurt." One of the healers called out. "And he's lost a lot of blood. But he will live."

Frodnar thanked all the divines all over and laughed aloud in relief.

**-8-**

The creak of the opening door immediately jarred Frodnar awake from his light nap. He glared around slightly disoriented from sleep. He was in the living quarters of one of the more nondescript apartments in the palace. The room was spartanly furnished; boasting only a pair of old couches, a chandelier, and felt carpets. A thin layer of dust covered everything and little puffs of it were raised every time one stepped down on the carpet, showing that the room had not been used in some time. The smooth and undecorated stone walls were broken by two doors, one leading to the outside hallway and the other leading to the apartment's bedroom. Six men stood guard at the bedroom door, three on either side. They were all handpicked by Frodnar from his own personal company and he trusted each with his life, and more importantly with the life of his king.

Frodnar looked to the open door and took in the man who had just entered the apartment.

"Hroar." Frodnar greeted the man that was walking towards him. "What news?"

Hroar removed his helmet and shook out a mane of golden hair. He was a giant of a Nord, bigger than even Frodnar which put him in the neighborhood of seven feet. He was built like the lion that was his namesake. The blue and brown stormcloak cuirass stretched across his massive torso and shoulders and his arms were as solid and thick as tree trunks. He had cobalt blue eyes that still seemed to retain all the innocence of childhood even though the man was four years past his twentieth winter. A greatsword that was almost as long as the man was broad was slung across the Hroar's back, Frodnar knew it weighed almost three stones but he knew Hroar to wield it as effortlessly as if it were rapier.

"None good captain," Hroar said in his deep voice with a shake of his head. "But some worst than others."

"How fares the situation in the city?" Frodnar then asked before clenching his jaw tightly in agitation. He dreaded the answer. It had been five days since the attack on Ulfric and in those five days things had gotten more out of hand than Frodnar would have ever dreamed. The assassination attempt on Ulfric had whipped the Nordic population into frenzy the likes of which Frodnar had never seen. They had demanded justice on whoever was responsible and in lieu of the actual perpetrators the blame had naturally fallen on Dunmers of the Gray Quarter.

Just three days passed an angry mob of disgruntled and very drunken Nords had stormed into the Gray Quarters where they had savagely attacked any of the gray skinned Elves that they had encountered. Before the guards could restore order four of the grayskins had been lynched, five had been raped, and dozens had been savagely beaten. Frodnar had no love for elves of any sort but with Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced gone he was commander of the city watch and he was not about to have a bunch of drunken idiots disrupting Windhelm's peace. Not when the king was incapacitated and thus the kingdom vulnerable. He had ordered swift and decisive action. Raloff Stonefist, the agitator who had stirred up the mob, had been whipped and imprisoned and several of the attackers accused of the most heinous crimes had been whipped and then banished from Eastmarch on pain of death should they return.

The peace had been kept but at the cost of the smoldering resentment of the Nordic populace, a walk through the marketplace the day after his punishments were meted out proved to him that he was not very popular at the moment. Frodnar shrugged it all off, he was not running a popularity contest after all.

"It's like a tinderbox." Hroar said with a deep sigh. He ran a hand through his mop of unruly blonde hair and looked at his captain wearily. "We're doing everything we can to keep it from erupting but the city is boiling over. Our people blame the grayskins for the attempt on the king and they say…"

"What do they say?" Frodnar asked sharply.

"They say that you had something to do with it." Hroar told him reluctantly. "What with the way that you reacted to the attack on the gray quarters. They say that you are in league with the Dunmers to kill the king and take his throne."

Frodnar issued a noise of utter disgust but tried his best to reign in his rising temper. He would not allow the agitators to get to him.

"They can say what they want." Frodnar answered dismissively. "So long as they do not attack the Gray Quarters again."

"The damn Elves aren't making it easy." Hroar said with a dark look.

"What do you mean?" Frodnar asked in concern.

"The attack pushed them over the edge it would seem." Hroar told Frodnar with a shake of his head. "Since the day before yesterday they've began fortifying the gray quarters and some have openly taking to carrying arms. What's worst Angrenor Once Honored was murdered yesterday. Needless to say who everyone thought did it."

He ended by giving Frodnar another dark young captain swore viciously and fought off the overwhelming urge to hit something. This was just what he needed, his king grievously wounded and the city.

"They're demanding that Rolff Stonefist be executed for his crimes." Hroar added in an undertone.

"Out of the question." Frodnar stated firmly. Much as he would love to see it himself, he bore little love for the rash and violent Nord, he could not hang Rolff without serious political repercussions. Rolff was the younger brother of Galmar Stonefist who was one of the most decorated war heroes of the War of Liberation and also the best friend and past housecarl to Ulfric as he had been to Wulfred, Ulfric's father before him. That aside, Rolff was well liked and popular among the Nordic population in his own regard. To kill him for the death of Elves could spark a full fledge riot within the already on edge city.

"Send in negotiators," Frodnar ordered. "The best we've got. Give them anything they ask within reason. Let them know that Rolff will be punished but there shall be no death."

"I doubt that they will accept that." Hroar said cautiously. "They really seem up in arms."

"They had better." Frodnar retorted angrily. "If they seek to disrupt the peace in my city I'll have their heads." Hroar nodded his head in understanding.

"How goes the investigation?" Frodnar asked while desperately hoping for good news. "The quicker we can mount some skulls on the pikes of this keep the better it will be for us all. The attack on Ulfric made us look weak and if we do not take action soon our enemies will be emboldened."

"We still have no idea who was behind it, captain." Hroar admitted frustrated. "It was definitely not the Dark Brotherhood."

"That much was obvious." Frodnar snorted. The Dark Brotherhood was not known for sending assassins by the gaggle.

"Whoever was in charge was no less devious and well funded though." Hroar continued. "The different guards who had gate duty recall seeing many of the assassins when they first entered the city. Apparently they were trickling in for the past two weeks in different guises such as fishermen and caravan guards. None of them were armed and armored then."

"Meaning they had inside help," Frodnar snarled.

"Aye," Hroar agreed nodding his head. "With septims to spare as well. They all wore completed outfits of glass armor and all carried finely wrought steel weapons though without any markers to indicate the smith or casting place. We estimate the full value of their arms and armor to be in the range of sixty five thousand septims."

Frodnar whistled appreciatively. It was a king's ransom. That in and of itself meant what Frodnar had suspected all along. The look on Hroar's face informed Frodnar that his lieutenant had come to the same conclusion.

"Its either the Empire or the Dominion." Frodnar announced. "Ulfric's got plenty of other enemies sure, but I doubt any of them could put up that much money." Hroar nodded his head in agreement.

"I want them found." Frodnar demanded. "Do whatever it takes but I want those responsible. I'll have their heads on pikes, I swear it on my honor!"

"Aye captain." Hroar said with a salute. "There is just one more report. Balgruuf struck once more."

Frodnar growled in weariness and exasperation. Just how much bad news could one take in a day?

"Where?" He asked crisply.

"They sacked Mistwatch," Hroar said with a slight smile. "All were killed and the fort itself sacked."

"Then why do you smile?" Frodnar asked suspiciously. "

They did not count on General Ralof being in the area with his battalion." Hroar said with a flourish. "He has taken up the chase. The last runner arrived only hours ago and reports that the general is hot on their tail. They're making a run for it but the general swears that they will not escape. Not this time."

_At last some good news,_ Frodnar thought with a wide smile. _If anyone can get that traitor its uncle Ralof._

"Do not underestimate them." Frodnar cautioned his lieutenant. "I want a detachment sent out to reinforce him at once. I want Balgruuf captured if possible but tell my uncle not to hesitate if there is no other choice."

"At once, captain." Hroar said saluting once more. He then turned to carry out his captain's various orders.

Frodnar turned his back and stared at the bedroom door beyond which his king laid in a drugged sleep. He yearned to wake him and tell him the news. Balgruuf outnumbered and pursued…the capture of the former jarl of Windhelm would be one of Ulfric's greatest joys. There was no bigger domestic threat to Skyrim than Balgruuf the Greater. Come to think of it, to see his traitorous head on a pike would make Frodnar happy too.

_Its all up to you Uncle Ralof,_ Frodnar thought as he headed towards the bedroom to check on his liege once more._ Don't let us down._


End file.
